


untitled two

by thedarknesswithin (babylxxrry)



Series: untitled [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Again, Gen, Other, elf fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 05:56:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13475115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylxxrry/pseuds/thedarknesswithin
Summary: i don't know what this isit's a mess that's what it isset in That Erathe people this is meant for know what i'm talking about





	untitled two

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what this is  
> it's a mess that's what it is  
> set in That Era  
> the people this is meant for know what i'm talking about

Her first instinct after it happens is to call him, but she stops herself. Because she can’t. Not when he’s asked specifically for time and space. Besides, it’s four in the morning. He’ll be sleeping.

So she sits in the dark and stares at the wall. Thinks about silence. Thinks about what heaviness would sound like. What emptiness would sound like. What both simultaneously would sound like. What silence sounds like. There’s no easy answer, because true silence is like 0 degrees Kelvin. It’s a theoretically existing concept, but it’s never truly accomplishable. There’s always some kind of sound, whether that’s the heartbeat in her ears or the quiet creaking of the house settling or the gentle tapping of her thumb on the screen of her phone. Or the distant ringing of her nightmares in the distance, held at bay by her wakefulness, waiting for her to succumb to exhaustion.

Theoretical concepts. Things like happy endings. They don’t exist, not in the perfect form people like to pretend they do. Satisfactory endings, maybe, but not perfect endings.

She wonders if he ever thought about their ending. They’ve been written into each other’s stories so long it’s hard to see an ending that doesn’t involve both of them in some way.

Stories are such big things. Everyone has one, is one, and all of their stories are intertwined in some way, whether as long chapters or mere words. The girl she walks past on campus every so often is someone’s daughter, someone’s crush, someone’s best friend. That girl is just a few words in her story, but paragraphs, chapters in someone else’s.

She thinks this might be why it’s so hard for her to keep from reaching out to him. He’s been written into her story since she was a child, and she into his. They complement each other, work as foils to each other, support each other, just the two of them against the world. It’s been like that for so long it feels like a chunk of her story is missing, isn’t being written properly without being in touch with him.

She wishes she weren’t so dependent on him, but she supposes that tends to happen after a decade of friendship. Selfishly, she hopes he misses her as much as she him. It’s hard to say, though. He’s always been the more open of the two, more likely to have a wider network of casual friends and acquaintances at any given time when compared to her tight circle of a few trusted friends and not many others. He’s got more people to fall back on, both in family and in friendship.

And her? She’s got him, she’s got a couple others, but he’s almost always the first one she turns to when she needs to rant or complain or even just to talk. So not having him at metaphorical arm’s reach is a little unfamiliar, a little unsteady, but she’ll keep her distance so long as he needs it. After all, he gives _her_ space when she needs it, so it’s only fair to give him his. Even if it hurts. Even in the moments where all she needs is for him to tell her to stop, to calm down, to breathe.

But as much as she wants to talk to him, she’s gotta pull through this one on her own. He’s asleep and won’t be around to listen in the morning. Only-

Only her phone’s lighting up in the dark, a little bubble of light. The name that pops up is familiar, the picture that follows is even more.

She leaves it. He asked for space.

He calls again.

Texts.

_I know you’re seeing these._

She scoffs, but something in her ribcage is tugging her hand towards the phone without her consent.

He calls again.

She picks up.

“Hey. Breathe, please,” he says the moment the line connects, and she closes her eyes. Drops her head onto her knees. Sighs.

“Why are you up?” She asks, and then it’s his turn to sigh.

“Sixth sense, I guess.”

She huffs. “Sure.”

“Not important. Please breathe.”

She’s not, not really, but it’s a relief to hear his voice. Even if it’s different, lacking somehow. Likely the distance recently, but the familiarity is still there, just a trace of concern behind the firm commands.

She doesn’t think she’ll be able to fully breathe tonight, but it’s a bit of help to know he still cares, still remembers.

 

// _  
_

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know  
> i just  
> idk man


End file.
